


All You Have to Do is Fall in Love

by Thalia Z (JesBelle)



Series: The Collected Works of Thalia Z. [3]
Category: Galaxy Quest (TV)
Genre: Art, Background Slash, F/M, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-16 06:27:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18089168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JesBelle/pseuds/Thalia%20Z
Summary: Everyone thinks Taggart is a Casanova.  What they don't know is that his heart has always belonged to the one woman he couldn't approach.





	All You Have to Do is Fall in Love

**Author's Note:**

> People still remember me for this one even though I wrote it a million years ago.

Rear Admiral Peter Quincy Taggart, the newly-minted head of Exploration for the Beta Sector, checked himself in his mirror for the eighth time this evening. He smoothed the jacket of his navy blue suit and adjusted the collar of the royal blue shirt underneath. He had considered wearing his dress uniform tonight — he certainly found it more comfortable than this thing — but he wanted to attend the opening as a representative of himself, not the NSEA.

And he had it on good authority that he looked dashing in a suit.

He checked his hair. He wore it shorter now, and a little greyer. His good authority had informed him that it looked distinguished.

But the question was, would _she_ like it?

Plenty of women had looked at Peter over the years with obvious appreciation, but the one who had mattered most had always observed the strict decorum she deemed appropriate in her relationship with the commander of the _Protector_. She had been polite, brisk, and except for one memorable occasion, distant.

But their days on the _Protector_ were far behind them both now. He was serving the NSEA from an office in The Hague, and she was a successful artist — her paintings hanging in galleries on twenty different planets.

Peter thought of that long-ago night, when they had been trapped together on the eighth moon of Sendar. Not wanting to be separated from her, (She was under his protection, after all.) he had told the Sendarii that they were married.

It had earned them a shared jail cell — and a small, lumpy bed. They couldn’t even fit on it side-by-side, so Peter had put his arm around her, let her lay her head on his chest, her arm across his waist. He could smell her hair. She used something on it that smelled like lilacs.

They were his favorite flower.

He could feel how tense and afraid she was. It surprised him. He had always thought of her as such a calm and collected person — self-possessed, poised. And he supposed that if they weren’t touching, she would still seem utterly composed. But he was touching her and he could feel how rigid the muscles were in her neck and back.

“We’re going to get out of this,” he told her.

He heard her swallow, felt the tiniest tremor against his body. “I believe you,” she said, her muscles losing a fraction of their stiffness.

“Good.”

“Because you never give up, never leave anyone behind,” she said. “I remind myself of that whenever we get into sticky situations — Peter’s in charge, and he never gives up.”

She had never called him by his first name. It stole his breath a little to learn that she sometimes thought of him as Peter, rather than Cmdr. Taggart.

“I — uhm — I admire your courage too,” he said.

As confessions go, this one was woefully inadequate. It didn’t convey even a tenth of what he felt for her — the admiration, the esteem, the affection.

But tomorrow — when Lazarus had stormed their prison from the outside while they battled their way from within, or when Chen had simply managed to lock onto them with the Digital Conveyor and transferred them out of there — they would have to go back to their strictly professional relationship and forget the night they had spent in each others’ arms. It was for the best that they not have too much to forget.

And yet, here he was, ten years later, and he still remembered all of it as if it had happened last night — the smell of her hair, the warmth of her body, and the softness of her voice had never really left him.

And now he was free to pursue his feelings for her, and she was free as well — provided she still had feelings, or had ever had feelings for him.

He smoothed his jacket again, and adjusted his collar for the two dozenth time. It was a relief when his communicator finally chimed. His transport was here.

Peter was restless on the ride to the gallery. The trip seemed to take forever, but on the other hand he dreaded arriving. He wondered when he had ever felt so nervous about the possibility of a romance.

The answer, of course, was the last time he had felt so deeply about a woman. In other words — never.

There was a time when he was younger when it had seemed foolish and excessive to think of love as anything other than a relaxing diversion — an amusement. But that had changed during his years commanding the _Protector_. He’d learned to love seriously as he’d come to understand his responsibilities to his ship and crew. He’d learned to love steadfastly as he’d gained the hard-won trust and friendship of Dr. Lazarus. And he’d learned to love unselfishly from watching _her._

He had been so used to loving her without having her that he’d required both Chen and Lazarus to set him on tonight’s course.

Soon after receiving his promotion, he’d visited them on New Tev’Meck.

Like most of New Tev’Meck, the cluster that Chen and Lazarus shared with Sha’ree’s family was swarming with children. It was amusing to watch. Chen was, of course, an incredibly patient father, always ready to fix broken toys, scraped knees, and hurt feelings. Lazarus pretended to be the disciplinarian of the family, but it was obvious no one believed him. Peter was sure that the kids only obeyed him out of indulgence.

It was during a rare quiet night, when all of the children had actually gone to bed without endless requests for glasses of water and just one more bedtime story, while they were sitting in the courtyard, that Chen had leaned across the table and said, “So, what about you? What are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

Peter frowned. “Like I said, I’ll be the head of Exploration for the Beta Sector — a big picture guy, sitting behind a desk, making the people who actually run the spaceships go a little nutty with my arbitrary demands.”

Chen smiled at the joke, but said, “Not what I meant. You know you can tell her now, if you want that.”

Peter had forgotten just how observant Chen was. Of course it hadn’t slipped past him. Peter looked down at his lap for a moment, trying to think of an answer to that.

“I doubt she feels the same way about me,” he said, surprising himself. It had been on the tip of his tongue to simply pretend that he didn’t know what Chen was talking about.

“There’s one good way to find out,” said Chen. “And I’m pretty sure she did feel that way once.”

And Chen’s “pretty sure” tended to be worth ten “absolutely positives” from anyone else.

“Vincent is right, Peter,” said Lazarus. “What you stand to gain is worth the risk. Finding your love either requited or unrequited is better than spending the remainder of your life in suspense.”

“No matter how romantic it is to just keep pining,” added Chen.

He wasn’t sure that he was ready to give up the simplicity of just wanting her.

And yet…

He thought about the sheer comfort of that night on the Sendaran moon — her warmth and weight, her arm half-encircling his waist. It had been a bit sexually exciting too, of course, but it was the sense of tenderness and well-being that had stuck with him.

Lazarus had once told him, in a rare fit of confession, that the biggest change being married to Chen had brought about in his life was the comfort of knowing that no matter how stressed or exhausted or frightened he might get, eventually there would be bed and Vincent. And while Lazarus was painfully aware that something could come and take that away at any moment, that something would never be Vincent himself.

And sitting in a courtyard, in the soft darkness of the New Tev’Meck night, watching the stars and listening to the chirp and buzz of insects and the quiet voices of his friends, Peter thought that some things are worth working for.

So here he was, speeding through Belgium on his way to Lille where he would hopefully not make too much of an ass of himself.

He had never been to an artist’s opening before. He’d never been to a gallery before. He’d been dragged through a museum or two back when his mom had been hell-bent on making sure he got some culture, but museums are for everyone, even the kid of an Iowa corn farmer who’d rather be flying loop-de-loops in the crop dusting pod than looking at the Impressionists.

Galleries were for aficionados, mavens, people who used words like “aficionado” and “maven.” He was beginning to rethink having worn something that blended in with the crowd.

Perhaps if he had opted to wear his uniform, the elegant woman in the long, dark purple dress might not have asked him if he found the painting he was looking at “evocative of both Sufi calligraphy and the brushwork of Van Gogh?”

“Uhm… Sure,” he said. “Now that you mention it.”

She laughed. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ What do you think of it then? You’ve been captivated by it, obviously.”

“It reminds me of the village dances on Meloaa II,” he said, because that was what the painting depicted — the swirling skirts, the long flying silk sashes with symbols gracefully written on them, and the bright glow of the moon augmented by the twinkling lights of a thousand tiny lamps. The painting was all oranges blending into pinks blending into purples with bits of script picked out in gold.

“Oh? You’ve been there?” she asked.

“Yeah. Meloaa II only gets three full moons a year, and when they do, everyone puts on these huge hoop skirts and dances in the center of town. They wear long sashes over the skirts that have all of their family affiliations written on them. In the old days, it was believed that the dances would bring luck and prosperity to your family. These days, I think it’s more of an excuse to party.”

He remembered standing on the roof of their guest house, watching the dancers fill the streets. The Meloaan moon shone fat and round in the sky, and there were tiny diode lamps set in niches in the walls of the buildings. He imagined that, hundreds of years ago, when the first houses were built here, the niches had held candles or oil lamps. Musicians circulated around the square, somehow managing to keep in sync with each other despite being scattered throughout the crowd. The music started slow and deep, driven by huge drums set near the entrances of the side streets off the square. Slowly, the dancers swirled and circled each other. It was almost stately, but even from the roof, Peter could feel the tension of the Melloaans being held in check. Gradually, the music built in both volume and tempo, high-pitched strings and flutes joining in while the dancers circled and spun faster and faster. From above, they could clearly see the intricate pattern of the dance. That was the point — the dance had originally been meant to please the moon with its beauty. The Meloaans didn’t rehearse this dance beyond teaching the youngsters the basic steps. Yet somehow, they never faltered or ran into each other.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, the dance came to an end — both the dancers and the drums coming to an abrupt halt. The dancers sat on the pavement, their skirts ballooning around them like parachutes, and caught their breath.

He was suddenly aware that she was standing near him, eyes wide, lips parted — her own breathing was faster than normal as she drank in the sight of the dance and its aftermath.

“That was amazing!” said Gwen.

“How’d they do that, Mom?” asked Laredo.

“You got me,” Zara replied. “But it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“The Meloaans have a sense they call _pache_ ,” said Lazarus, ever ready to give a biology lesson, especially when one had actually been requested. “It allows them to always know where they are in relation to each other. That, combined with the music, keeps them following their chosen place in the dance.”

“Looks like it’s drinking time,” said Chen, pointing to a side street where a couple of Meloaans were rolling out a large cask of the local brandy. The landing party had been invited to join them for this part of the celebration.

He had just hoped that the good relations they were building would turn out to be worth the inevitable hangover.

“It _was_ quite the party.” Her voice broke into his reverie. He hadn’t even seen her approach, although she was hard to miss in that dress. It appeared to basically consist of a long piece of orange and gold silk wrapped around her body like a very fancy bath towel and cinched below her breasts with a gold belt. It was a far cry from the grey jumpsuit she’d worn on the _Protector_.

For a moment he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. She outshone his memory of her like the sun outshines a light panel.

“Zara,” he said. “I mean, uhm, Ms. Laredo. I…”

“Zara’s fine,” she said, smiling. “I don’t think we’re required to keep things quite so formal as we used to, do you?”

“No. No, I don’t,” he said, returning her smile. “Please call me Peter.”

“It would be my pleasure, Peter.”

“So, you’re Commander Taggart?” said the woman in the purple dress. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

She had? Did Zara talk about him?

“It’s Admiral Taggart now,” said Zara. “Peter, this is Amelia Lang. She’s been my best friend since our college days.”

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” he said, shaking the hand she offered.

“I feel like we’ve already met,” said Amelia. “Danny’s told me so many stories.”

Peter felt a twinge of disappointment. Of course Dan Laredo would tell his Auntie about his adventures as a pilot, and many of those adventures included his C.O.

“He’s an exceptional young man and a gifted pilot,” said Peter.

Zara’s smile widened at that. “Look, I’ve got to circulate for another hour or so. Will you be around later?”

“I can be.”

“Great. I’d love to catch up. I’ll see you then.” She touched his arm briefly before joining a group of people looking at another canvas.

“Come on,” said Amelia. “I’ll be your audience and you can tell me the stories behind all of the paintings.”

Telling amusing stories about his adventures was one of Peter’s specialties, and Amelia seemed to genuinely appreciate his anecdotes, but each painting brought back more and more memories like the first.

“An Oasis in the Sands of the Great Northern Isle on Gdonk” — The ladies-in-waiting of the Gdonkian Princess, Tangor, rest in the shade of dark red blood palms. They smile seductively at a nearby group of soldiers, but the soldiers don’t smile back. Gdonkian noblewomen consume their mates as soon as they’ve been impregnated. They believe it strengthens the fetus. It certainly simplifies the transfer of wealth and power between generations.

When it had looked as if Peter would become Tangor’s latest husband/victim during the negotiations with the Ssazzbatts, Zara had been the one to buy them more time by offering to paint the portrait of Tangor’s favorite _jorbit_.

“The Return of the Orphans of Targathia” — Adult Targathians were being reunited with the children that had been taken from their creches by Meechan invaders and sold to the energy beings of Porais IV. In the foreground, a Targathian casts off xyr purple mourning veil as xe embraces two small children who wrap their four tiny arms around xyr neck and waist.

It had been an exhausting mission. Between holding Dr. Lazarus’s battle rage in check and trying to locate the children and taking care of an extra 72 passengers once they were located, everyone on the _Protector_ was on the verge of collapse by the time they reached Targathia. The Pora, upon discovering that their beloved new charges were not actually unwanted orphans, willingly returned the children to their parents. The Pora never again sought to bring corporeal beings to their planet, choosing instead to die when the machines that maintained them would begin to fail. The last he’d heard, a group of the “orphans” and their parents, remembering the kindness of the Pora and their sorrow over having hurt the Targathians, return to Porais IV every year to check and repair their machines.

“A Shelter is Prepared on D’Kerivan” — a giant lavender mushroom with a short, fat stem and green speckles on its broad cap. Eight-legged mechanical worker drones swarm over it, carefully hollowing it out in the early hours just before dawn.

The work had to be completed before the sun breached the horizon because the sun of D’Kerivan is so hot that its people can’t be out in it for more than a few minutes each day, and the drone wranglers needed to halt work by then. The fungus required a full day of sunshine to dry completely. Zara had been charmed by both the mushroom houses and the little drones who made them.

“The Scythian Hall of the Ascended” — The Hall is so large that the far wall is barely visible in the distance. The nearer walls are painted with orgiastic scenes of sex and excess. Low tables sag under the weight of lovingly depicted food and wine and drugs, while all around are naked bodies seeking pleasure in every possible position and combination. Although the Hall itself is empty of people now, the short, heavy tables and brightly colored stacks of rolled-up arachnid silk mats speak of the fact that such scenes take place here regularly.

The only member of the crew apparently unmoved by his first sight of the Hall of the Ascended was Lazarus. Everyone else went blushy and goggle-eyed. More than a few of them giggled. Zara covered Laredo’s eyes.

“The Forest of Kreemor” — a giant canvas with shadowy vertical stripes of indigo and deep blue-green, dotted here and there with tiny turquoise lights and softly glowing bio-luminescent blobs. On Kreemor, the canopy of the world-forest blots out so much of the light coming from the local star that most of the animals of the forest floor glow in order to find each other.

The darkness under the trees was soft and quiet. It was surprisingly warm, an effect of the process of decay taking place just under the thick bed of fallen leaves. As soon as he had set foot here, Peter had known he had to show Zara this place.

As he stood in front of each painting, Peter was reminded over and over of the times he had been on hand when Zara first saw a new planet. He had arranged it as often as possible because watching her see these worlds was like watching a child open a present.

They had been the only gifts he could give her.

And now he was experiencing that thrill of seeing new worlds through her eyes all over again. He wasn’t only seeing Gdonk or Scythia or Meloaa. He was remembering how Zara had drunk those places in, the way that her eyes moved as she took in every detail, and the tears that had shone there as she watched the reunion on Targathia.

Finally, just when he though that he and Amelia had seen every painting, she asked him about a small picture that was hanging around a corner in an L-shaped room near the entrance to the gallery. Peter had missed it on his way in, but he recognized it immediately when Amelia pointed it out.

“A Cell in a Sendarii Prison” — It’s just a bed, narrow and shabby, with a thin, muddy-brown blanket. The imprint of two bodies can still be seen on it. One body curled in tight to the other.

Peter swallowed, tried to think of something to say. “Not everyone was happy to see us.”

In the morning, he and Zara had been taken to a courtroom where a tall Sendari informed them that their geld had been paid and their insult to the Sendarii people conditionally forgiven. They must depart immediately and never return. Their guard then took them to another room where Dr. Lazarus was waiting for them.

“It’s good to see you, Peter.” He nodded toward Zara. “Ms. Laredo.” She nodded back. “Apparently one of you touched a sacred relic. It required the last 14 hours and a kilo of platinum to negotiate your release.”

“A sacred relic?” asked Peter.

“An eating utensil belonging to their god-emperor.”

“The fork?” asked Zara. “It was on the floor. Someone could have stepped on it.”

“Yes, well. Be that as it may,” said Lazarus, “they have agreed to forgo the death penalty in return for Humans being banned from the entire Sendar system for the next 100 years.”

Zara turned ashen at the revelation that the Sendarii had considered killing them.

They had both been relieved to see the planet from the safety of the _Protector_ a short while later.

“How did you find that much platinum on such short notice?” asked Peter when he and Lazarus were alone in his office.

“The maintenance crew replaced 37 converter coils last week. Tech Sgt. Chen melted the spent coils along with a rather attractive bracelet belonging to Lt. Madison. She holds you personally responsible for either replacing it or reimbursing her 22 credits.”

“22 credits? For a platinum bracelet?”

“The workmanship was remarkable.”

They shared a little laugh over that. Then Lazarus said, “Peter, are you alright? You seem… subdued.”

“I’m fine,” said Peter.

“You’re certain?”

“Yeah. Look, the accommodations left a bit to be desired. I didn’t sleep great. Don’t worry, Doc. Eight hours of sack time and I’ll be my old self.”

“I’ll leave you to retire then,” said Lazarus, and he did just that.

And Peter had gone to bed alone with the memory of the scent of lilacs.

“Sorry,” said Peter, shaking his head and smiling at Amelia. “Let’s just say that in 78 Sendarii years we can try again, and thankfully, that duty will fall to someone other than me.”

Amelia laughed.

“Well, you two are having a good time I see,” said Zara, coming around the corner

“I’m having a wonderful time,” said Amelia.

“I wish you didn’t have to rush off, but you said earlier that you left Darell home with the kids.”

“Thanks for reminding me!” said Amelia. “There’ll be hell to pay if I’m not home in time to help put them to bed. Where’d I put my wrap?”

“It’s probably in the cloakroom,” said Zara. “Let me help you find it.”

“I’ll wait here,” said Peter, figuring they needed a moment to huddle.

“Okay,” said Zara, smiling warmly at him. “I’ll be right back.”

Peter watched them go. He had to admit, Amelia was a great wingwoman. At least, he hoped that’s what she was, because if that’s what she was, it meant that Zara might actually be interested.

He allowed the tiniest flame of hope to kindle in his mind.

When she didn’t skip out on him, he felt the flame flicker just a bit brighter.

Zara had her own wrap — a golden-brown velvet shawl — over her arm.

“Care to take a walk?” she asked. “There’s a beautiful night garden right next door.”

“I’d love to,” said Peter.

Zara threw the wrap over her bare shoulders, and Peter offered her his arm.

The garden really was beautiful. Peter thought it might be nice to come back some time when he could actually notice it.

Right now all he could notice was her hand on his arm and the smell of lilacs… and the fact that he had absolutely no idea what to do or say. Here they were, walking arm in arm in this ridiculously romantic setting, and he was absolutely tongue-tied.

Zara finally broke the silence. “I saw Tawny last week. She said you’d been at Alpha Station.”

“I, uh, I’ve been doing a little traveling. I wanted to see some of the old crew before I settle into my new job.” Crap! He didn’t want her to think this was just part of making the rounds of people he used to serve with, not that he’d exactly served with her — she was a civilian. Still, this was different. Of course, if he chickened out, maybe having her think that this had been nothing more than a friendly visit wouldn’t be so bad.

So much for never giving up and never surrendering.

“Have you been to New Tev’Meck as well?” she asked.

“Yeah, Chen and Lazarus and every other adult there have about a dozen kids each. They all roam around in packs, although I’ve heard rumors that some of them also go to school.”

She laughed. “They’re doing well then?”

“Chen’s in his element. Lazarus seems way more content than I thought he’d be, certainly more than _he_ thought he’d be.”

“I’ll bet they’re both excellent fathers.”

“They are,” he agreed.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Finally Peter asked, “Why did you paint the Sendarii prison?”

That’s it, Taggart, he thought. Take the bull by the horns. Or just poke at it a little with a very long stick.

“I painted the things that had stuck with me over the years — like the reunion on Targathia or walking into a room full of graphic depictions of sex while accompanied by the entire command crew and my eleven-year-old kid.”

“Or like almost dying for picking up a fork?” he asked.

“Or like spending the night in your arms,” she replied.

He stopped walking.

Breathe, he thought.

He turned toward her and looked at her face. She was watching him as his brain sputtered and finally caught.

“I— I’ve thought about it too,” he said, his mouth and throat so dry that it came out nearly a whisper. He cleared his throat and tried to make a little spit. “I… uhm…”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so flustered,” she said. “I’d think by now this sort of thing would come easy to you.”

“I’ve never done this before,” he said. “I’ve never tried to… convince a woman to love me.” That was something he’d just said aloud.

The look she gave him was incredulous. “You’ve never…”

He went on. “I’ve done it on accident a few times, but I’ve always been careful to… to be very clear that all I was looking for was to create some mutually pleasant memories. I’ve never… I’ve never wanted this with anyone else.”

“Love?” Now she seemed to be the one who couldn’t get her brain to work. “Me?”

“Yeah… Yes. I love you. I have for years.” If he was about to go down in flames, it might as well be for the whole truth.

She stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth open, for what seemed like a few eternities. Then she raised herself up on her tip-toes, whispered, “Okay,” and kissed him.

Peter’s brain shorted again. Her mouth was… pressed against his… and he could taste the sweetness of the wine she had been drinking at the opening… and he thought, put your arms around her, stupid… so he did… and she sort of leaned in and melted there… and she was warm and soft and his arms fit perfectly in the curve of her waist… and her tongue was licking along the seam of his mouth, so he opened it… and… and… and…

When they both pulled back to breathe, he asked “Okay?”

She laughed. “Okay, I’ll let you convince me to love you. I really don’t think it’s going to be a difficult task.”

He was grinning like an idiot. He could feel it. He kissed her again.

When they caught their breath for a second time, she said, “I think it may be working already.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _The Collected Works of Thalia Z._ is a collection of short stories written by my original character, Mary Sue Forrester. The notes at the beginning of these stories are also written by her. -- Jes


End file.
